Malcolm x Raylan: Cowboy Surprise

Art was suspicious right off the bat when Raylan took a week off with the express note that his phone would be Out Of Order til the next Monday, but the Chief Marshal wasn't going to look gift horses in the mouth. Not when it suggested he'd have a few days of peace, until Raylan caved to turning his phone back on again. Still, he watched the younger Marshal walk out of the office and promised himself to check into the state of Harlan within 3 days to make sure that the place wasn't on fire. The smoke would reach him before he called, he was sure.
But Art didn't have much to worry about - Raylan had no plans on staying in the state for his vacation, beyond one day spent closing up Arlo's and securing it the best way he could before getting on a plane to New York City. He wanted to surprise Malcolm - it'd been near two months since they'd last seen each other and frankly, Raylan was tired of missing him. They'd called and texted, stayed in a fairly consistent, if odd houred, touch but it wasn't the same.
Once he landed, Raylan rented a car and navigated his way towards Malcolm's apartment, stopping to grab a bouquet of flowers. It was.. Extra, but Raylan didn't want to show up empty handed, just in case. Thirty minutes later, Malcolm's door buzzer was being hit, like Raylan was here to deliver something. Well, he was, but that was half the fun.

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"If you're sure," he finally decided with a little shake of his head as he stepped into place, hefting the axe again to get the blade in the right direction before throwing it in a smooth move, thunking it into the target.
Someone had been practicing, if his form was any indication.
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"You've been practicing," he noted happily. "With the big axe, I'd guess."
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Sue him for wanting to impress his would be boyfriend.
"The bigger axe is heavier. Thought it might help with muscle memory."
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"Besides," he continued as he got out of the way. "You were right. Good for letting off some... mounting frustrations."
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Dead centre.
"After this throw, let's move back," he suggested.
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With a hand free, Raylan finished the unbuttoning that Malcolm had started and pulled his overshirt from his jeans.
"I'm almost afraid to ask how far back you can hit it period." See previous concerns about the safety of Malcolm's weapon rack.
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He backed up almost to the end of the kitchen island, hefted the axe, then gave it a good, hard throw, stepping into it and following through across his body. It hit about four inches below centre. He looked at Raylan in triumph.
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"Hot damn. I.. will not be trying that just yet," he admitted, stepping out to about half of what Malcolm had, mostly equal distance between the profiler and the starting line. "Mainly because I don't wanna have to replace anything."
Malcolm could huff a dismissive sigh at money; Raylan could not. Pulling the axe up over his shoulder, Raylan threw again, maintaining his form from before while putting as much power into it as he could. He was rewarded with a near center hit, handle askew in angles. He looked back over his shoulder with a grin as he turned around, unbuttoning his cuffs before shrugging his shirt off.
"Not too bad, I'd say." He was proud of himself.
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"How far do I dare to try...." he said, stopping even with the front door. He tossed the axe up end over end and caught it, then hefted it a couple times.
"This is going to be risky," he acknowledged. "I've never tried it from here."
He raised it, heaving it as hard as he could, stumbling forward a couple steps with the follow through. It hit the stone of the fireplace just below the board with a loud clang and bounced off, skittering across the wood floor loudly.
He laughed with delight.
"Well, that was too far," he concluded.
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"I feel like you and risk are deeply acquainted," he quips with a smirk as he moved to stand out of the way, glancing away only to drape his shirt over the counter, folding his arms over his chest. Despite his lean, being a sports kinda man, he couldn't help but stand up as Malcolm threw, wincing with a pull of his shoulder as the axe hit and clattered, laughing with him.
"Its good to know your limits but I think I might be a terrible influence."
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"I think you might be a great influence. I haven't had this much fun in a long time."
He walked across the room to pick up the axe from the floor, then to retrieve the others from the board. He held one up, the other two clutched in his other hand. "Want to throw another?" he said, holding it out, handle first, as he approached. "I hit stone with this thing and it didn't break," he pointed out.
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He glanced at the axe before turning around and ambling back towards his throwing point.
"I am amazed. How do you think they made 'em this strong? Can't get shit to last these days."
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He took one of the other two from the hand holding them both and swung it around.
"The only weapons in my collection that are frail are fragile because the materials have come to end of life. The metal is too corroded or too thin now, for example." He glanced over at the fireplace, then peered at it more closely. "Actually, I think I chipped the stone a little." He made a little wince. "Don't tell my landlord at dinner tonight."
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He looked back up at Malcolm with a curl of his smile. "Afraid she's going to make you sell your toys or that she's going to remodel the whole place to 'fix' it for ya?"
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Raylan had heard her chide him for plenty of nothing and Malcolm was pretty sure he didn't want to listen to it either.
Malcolm realized his gaze was lingering on Raylan and took a breath.
"Those shirts," he said, gesturing towards Raylan's undershirt with his axe. "You have a lot of them, huh?"
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"And you don't," he replied looking back up with a pinch in his face. "With all those suits you wear, I'd have thought an undershirt was demanded, by fashion if not function. Why is that?"
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"You know I have shirts that aren't flannel or plaid print, right?" His hand came out to gesture with the teasing question as he ambled a few steps closer. "But you're right on it being about the weather. Cold in the mornings, hot in the afternoon and stickily mild in the evenings. Nights get colder than you'd think and you can't run a heater on a stake-out."
He pointed. "Better than t-shirts too, lets the shoulders breath. Yours could do with a breath or two."
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"Why don't you tell me?"
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"It feels a lot like not wearing anything," he noted.
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"Doesn't feel too bad getting stripped off either," he promised. "Experience," he said, squinting one eye playfully. "You remember the heat out there and you didn't even come in summer. We try to avoid sunburns, heat stroke and the skin cancer that follows.
Try throwin' in it."
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Throw in it.
Okay.
He stepped up to the point he last threw successfully and threw it hard, following through. He looked up to see it land in the centre. He turned and grinned at Raylan. "It's pretty freeing, though." He glanced down. "It's stretchy."
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BAT. BASEBALL BAT. Shit, myself. :|
i knew what u meant <3
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He's gonna stop him before they hit the stairs.
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THESE TWO. FUCK. /ded
I KNOW I CAN'T THEM
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